Here I hang
On your wall
Frozen in place
Surrounded by dollhouse settings
Pouting for the attention I craved
In days of innocent dares to do handstands in my Sunday dress
And being scolded
For overexposure
By judgmental parentals
Now I hang
Looking sensual
But not happy
I’m shivering
White satin sheets
Do nothing
Just there as curtains
Drawn on a private show
A gaudy peacock feather
Barely mask my mounds fully
Only the taut, rosy tips
Jutting in praise to the cold.
Is this what I am to you?
With glazed, half-lidded eyes
Not seeing the true intent of your evening
Yet another steamy night
Where I end up in your dreams
And you end up with seed in hand
I cry inside
For anything to keep me warm
Sweaters, coats, something meaningful between us
Give me my dignity
Instead of thumbtacks to keep me from fluttering
To the floor
But I’ll never be free
And here I’ll always be
Lying spent on virgin white
For your pleasure.